


Caffeine Dependency

by LydsLife



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Caffeine Addiction, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydsLife/pseuds/LydsLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Blearily, he remembers somebody saying (in a dream maybe), "Drink up, you look like you need it."<br/>He's not sure what happened to make him like this. He doesn’t know anything at all, it seems.<br/>He’s just so fucking tired.<br/>Handshaking with the effort he brings the cup to his lips and tilts.<br/>Everything is coming back to him now. He can hear the sound of a teacher in a nearby classroom yelling at a student. He can read the crude graffiti tags scrawled on the lockers around him. He can feel the endless ache in the back of his stomach.<br/>The fog in his head recedes a little.<br/>He ought to have coffee more often. Without sugar, of course.”</p>
<p>Or </p>
<p>Stiles is still trying to cope with everything that happened Junior year. He’s probably not doing a very good job (he’s a tad underweight and slightly too attracted to thoughts about death) but at least he has caffeine to fall back on when what he feels inside is too hard to hide on the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cloudy Thoughts and Coffee Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends,  
> This is my take on possible Stiles depression post Season 3 and 4. This is set in the summer before Season 5 and pairings from the show apply, however, will be focused heavily on Scott/Stiles (leaning toward their brolationship) more than Scott/Kira and Stiles/Malia.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: Do not read if triggered easily by mentions of eating disorders and suicide.  
> Happy reading!

Stiles rubs his temples as if to soothingly massage his aching brain through his skull. He tries to focus on the laces of his sneakers as he walks but the world fades in and out of reality. He doesn't remember his hands falling from his head but at some point they do. They hang limply by his side now.

He’s confused and disorientated and not really sure what’s going on around him. All he knows is that he is tired, _so fucking tired_ , and that his brain hurts like it's never hurt before.

He drags his feet as he walks from what he thinks was just AP Chemistry to what he hopes is History because he can't make out any of the words on his schedule to check, nor does he know the time or what period this is. He thinks he had English with Scott this morning, but can't be sure. He's not even sure this morning had a morning. The only thing he's certain of is that his head _hurts._ That thought is the only thing to permeate the dense cloud in his brain clearly.

He doesn’t notice the squeaking sound that his shoes make as he drags them against the linoleum floor, which weeks ago would have driven him part insane. His ADHD brain which usually has every sense dialed up to a thousand is drowned in white noise. All he can hear is the blood pumping through his head and a buzz at his ear drums which should be the sounds of hustle and bustle around him in the hall but isn’t.

As he continues to shuffle his way down the school hall he bumps into a girl at her locker. She staggers from the unexpected impact and he stops walking to apologize. He tries to lift his head high enough to connect their eyes but he struggles to even make his iris' reach her waist. He feels like he is hauling his head up top of his shoulders with a rope twice his weight, while underwater. He mutters what he hopes sounds like, "Sorry," but can't be sure.

He thinks he reaches his hand out at some point or another but for what he's _just not sure._

As he registers that he should probably move on and not just keep staring at the bumped locker girl he realizes that she's already gone and that he's actually staring at space and air and atoms to small to be seen. She might have been talking to him at some point, cursing him for not responding, but he can’t know.

The girl is gone, and, in fact, everyone in the hall has gone. He realizes that and then that he's alone. He’s surprised by this. How long has everyone been missing for?

He's more surprised to see his hand outstretched and clutching a……. coffee cup?

Coffee.

Caffeine.

His mind thinks over the idea at a snail’s pace.

He thinks that he recalls from some faraway place in his memory that he hates coffee. But, again, he can’t be sure if that’s true or not.

It's just all so strange and confusing and Stiles just wants to lie down and go to _sleep_.

…………

………………Coffee.

He shifts the cup from left to right experimentally (or to something to that effect, because he's not even sure that if he was to make the L's with his hands, he'd know which was left and which was right). Liquid sloshes against the cardboard walls of the cup. He somehow knows this means it’s full, but he doesn’t know how. What does it mean when something is full? He can't tell if the liquid is warm or not as his fingers can't feel it, but something in his brain makes him think that someone gave it to him.

Blearily, he remembers somebody saying (in a dream maybe), "Drink up, you look like you need it."

The thought of drinking almost makes him sick, but he isn't. It feels like he can't be. He's not sure why that is and he's too _fucking tired_ to care.

He's not sure what happened to make him like this. He doesn’t know why he’s so tired. He doesn’t know anything at all, it seems. He just feels like a zombie. Maybe this is what it would be like if he was one. Now that he thinks about it, maybe he _is_ one. He loses that thought to the fog almost as soon as it comes to him.

 _Coffee_.

Handshaking with the effort he brings the lid to his lips and tilts. The liquid flows into his mouth freely, gliding over his tongue and sliding down his throat. It’s as though it’s the first thing he’s ever tasted; bold and violent in its assault on his taste buds.

He can finally, _finally_ , feel something.  

Slowly more of his senses return. He feels the coffee heating his mouth. It's warmer than just warm. It’s hot. He thinks it’s burnt his tongue! He runs his tongue along his teeth to check and immediately feels the sting. He has certainly burnt his tongue, but at least he can feel that he has.

Everything is coming back to him now. He can _hear_ the sound of a teacher in a nearby classroom yelling at a student. He can _read_ the crude graffiti tags scrawled on the lockers around him.

_He can feel the endless ache at the back of his stomach._

Stiles straightens a bit and the dense cloud in his head recedes a little more. He's not fog free, but he's more awake. He can process things a lot easier now, like what the ache in his stomach is. He takes a deep breath and pauses with the coffee cup close to his lips. How many calories are in coffee, anyway? He takes another deep breath and tips the cup almost vertical into his mouth. As he finishes his first second swig, the coffee begins to rise in his throat in the form of acid bubbling up his trachea. He swallows air in order to push it down.

He needs this to think clearly. He needs to think clearly. He needs to drink the coffee, no matter what his body tells him.

By the time Stiles has finished the entire cup he feels a lot better. His stomach ache has grown, but he is well practiced at ignoring it and he is still tired but at least now he's not so tired that he can't think properly.

He ought to have coffee more often. Without sugar, of course.

He wonders where he should be and glances down at his phone for the time. It's his study period, thank God. He turns on his heels and starts walking the right direction to class – the opposite way down the hall.

At least he missed lunch today with no questions.

Overall, no harm done.


	2. Focus and Fried Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!  
> I was really excited to hear everyone's feedback on my last chapter. Thank you to Drew and Bianca for commenting and to everyone who kudosed.  
> HAPPY READING!

Stiles is convinced that every cell in his body is vibrating. _Violently_ vibrating. Such violent vibrating that his nose is even shaking, making it itchy and uncomfortable. He feels as though he’s going to sneeze repeatedly. Who even knew that a nose _could_ shake? The shaking is so bad all over his body in fact, that he’s sure pretty soon he’ll be shaken out of his own skin. He’ll be Beacon Hills brand new oddity, not a Kanima or Werejaguar but a very human muscle-man red, raw and bleeding. He’d shudder at the image but he’s already shuddering so it would be basically pointless. 

What was he even supposed to be doing now? Homework? He’s at his desk and there’s a book open but his hands bounce against his thighs, tapping to a beat only he can hear. It’s his history textbook, probably. He’s been trying to study for history finals for about three weeks but he’s been having trouble focusing. Like right now, as he distractedly drums out some song as if he was the big time drummer in punk rock music video.

Inside his head, a war rages between his Adderall medication and that last double shot cappuccino. It’s pretty obvious that the caffeine is winning.

He just needs to move. That’s what his body wants, right? To move. Then he can focus and get this work done. For the first time in his life he feels like going for a _run_. Like an actual _goddamn_ _run_. With the actual moving of limbs and anaerobic processes and expenditure of energy. He must be losing it, honestly.

Stiles shakily pushes his chair back, doesn’t bother to change his pyjamas, grabs his earphones and heads out his bedroom door. His hands are trembling even as he grips the banister on his way down the stairs. He can hear his dad snoring from his room down the hall, and hesitates for a second but then turns the key in the front door anyway. He’ll be home before his Dad even notices he’s gone…. Hopefully.

He’s certain that this is ridiculous. Absolutely in no way sane. It’s two in the morning and he’s going jogging? He should turn around, get into bed and sleep! He knows that that suggestion is almost as ridiculous as jogging right now, however.

This is what his body wants. This is how to stop the shaking and just focus. Anyway, running is supposed to be good for you. He is a bit of a health kick at the moment, after all…..

He starts jogging, bare feet hitting the asphalt at a steady beat. Damn it! He forgot shoes. He mentally kicks himself but doesn’t stop. See, he’s much too distracted. He needs this. After the first two hundred meters or so he starts to breathe heavy, panting in time with his steps now. Wow. He never realised how unfit he was. Wasn’t cross country season just a few months ago? Oh, that’s right. He was being possessed by an evil Japanese demon spirit fox attempted to decimate everything he loves, around that time.

Or _loved_ , in the case of some people.

He shakes his head and tries not to think about it.

_He hadn’t even been there when she died._

He shakes his head again as though trying to physically fling all thoughts out of his head. He sprints forward and ignores that little rocks that have dislodged from the road and stuck in the balls of his feet. When he eventually slows down he is breathing too harshly to think of anything else but his bodies starving need for oxygen (thank God). He pops in the earphones he’s carrying and decides to just play whatever comes up on his phone playlist as loudly as he can and focus on breathing in time to the beat of the music.

When Stiles eventually jogs to a stop in front of his house he’s breathing heavily but feels much calmer. He’s thighs are burning, his feet aching and he’s total, utterly exhausted but for the first time in weeks, he isn’t overthinking the things he needs to get done and he feels content (almost) from the endorphins running through his veins.

He falls onto his bed face first and is asleep almost instantly. His music is still pounding through his earphones, but he’s too far away to hear it.

It’s weird because he started drinking coffee to stay awake and now he’s having to run himself into the ground ( _literally_ ) to fall asleep.

* * *

 

“Gooooood morning!” Stiles calls, unlocking and throwing open the McCall’s front door dramatically. His arms are spread wide, eyes closed and mouth split in a smile as he waits for the return greeting his second family will give him. When he is met with prolonged silence, Stiles peaks open one eye. Scott and Melissa are nowhere to be seen, the house is still and he would think it to be unoccupied if he hadn’t almost run over Scott’s bike when he drove Roscoe up the driveway.

Stiles' arms drop to his side and his smile slowly slips off his face. He stands alone in the open doorway, confused and a little hurt. He waits for any indication that someone is awake and when he doesn’t receive one, shakes off his feelings, closes and locks the front door and makes his way into the kitchen. He knows the McCall’s kitchen almost better than he knows his own and, due to _mi casa is so casa_ attitude that both Stilinski and McCall extend to one another, Stiles begins hunting for the dusty coffee pot that he knows is somewhere around here.

When he has successfully pried the contraption out from beneath the stove, cleaned it thoroughly and has just begun to brew the strongest coffee blend he can find, he hears the sound of shuffling feet on floor from behind him. Stiles turns to see Scott is standing in the archway to the kitchen, hunched over slightly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes well, sleepily.

“Stiles.” Scott says, not stopping the motion on his face, “Do you know what time it is?”

Stiles thinks back to leaving his house that morning but can’t recall looking at the clock on his way out. He shrugs and spins back to the stove to start the gas on another burner. “I believe,” He starts, “It’s breakfast time, buddy! Be a dear and get out the bacon and eggs, please.”

Scott rolls his eyes but does as his best friend requires. “For your information, it’s seven twenty..... On a Sunday. That’s pretty much sacrilege, bro.” The smell of the bacon hits Stiles like a greasy, fattening wall as he pulls the plastic off of the meat. It makes him dizzy and the beast in his stomach to awaken, roaring. He really hopes Scott can’t hear it.

“You don’t even know what sacrilege means.” Stiles retorts, as casually as possible, like he wasn't being consumed from the inside out. Scott takes a seat at the bench while Stiles cooks and watches with eyes half-lidded. Meanwhile, the bacon on the stove begins to pop satisfyingly; the sound almost makes Stiles sick. “If you did, you’d be getting ready for church right now.”

“Oh.” Is all Scott returns.

When the food is ready, Stiles pulls two plates from the overhead cabinet and puts one fried egg and three pieces of bacon on both. He sets one on the bench in front of Scott and puts the other in the microwave for Melissa. Stiles slides cutlery and the tomato sauce bottle to Scott from across the bench as though it was an air hockey table and Scott catches the items without so much as blinking twice.

“Coffee, Scotty?” Stiles asks.

“Uh, no,” Scott replies, speech muffled with food. “Where did you even find that thing? I forgot it even existed.” Stiles chuckles a little at that then pours the coffee into the biggest mug he can find and doesn’t add milk or sugar. He leans back against the sink and sips his coffee.

Scott stops shoveling food to stare quizzically at Stiles. Stiles pauses with his coffee near his lips and raises an eyebrow. It’s silent for a moment before Scott asks, “Are you gonna have any..... or?”

Stiles feels guilt rise in his throat but squashes it down by swallowing a mouthful of coffee harshly. “Nah. I ate before I left.”

Scott looks like he doesn’t believe him for a second, knowing that Stiles has never once eaten breakfast before leaving the house in the morning, but then seems to internally shrug and decide it isn’t a big deal.

 _Probably the Adderall_ , Scott thinks. Stiles stares off into space, coffee cup half raised. _Yes,_ Scott decides, _definitely the Adderall._

Something about the situation, however, doesn’t quite sit right with Scott.

“When did you start drinking coffee black?” Scott’s face scrunches confusedly. “Or coffee in general….. I thought you hated it.”

Stiles is drawn back from his thoughts to look at his friend, who is now squirting a healthy amount of tomato sauce onto his bacon, and tries to not think about the mountain of calories Scott has just heaped onto his fork. Stiles tries to focus, instead, on his aching muscles from last night’s run, draining the last of the coffee and really anything but the smell of that deliciously fattening food.

“I dunno. I guess, it just…. happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your thoughts,  
> Lyds


	3. The Figure that Follows

A breath sweeps across the back of his neck. The cold air brushing just above his collar makes Stiles shiver and roll his shoulders uncomfortably.

There’s something following him today.

He’s doing his best to ignore it but even as he climbs the steps to school two at a time, he can feel it keeping pace with him.

It’s been toe to toe with him from pretty much the moment he woke up, even watching him as he packed his Dads lunch, brewed his first coffee of the day and forcefully swallowed his Adderall. It was as though Roscoe could even feel it’s chilling presence as he drove to school, shuddering more than usual at intersections (and that was saying something). Stiles was already pretty tightly wound with exams not that far away, but the presence of…. _The follower_ has the knot at the bottom Stiles stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

He just really wants (needs) it to leave him alone.

Stiles pushes open the double doors to the school hallway and for a second he thinks he can almost see it out of the corner of his eye. He turns to get a better look but as step falters, his breath does too. For a painful second, his breath seems to escape him and he is at a loss to catch it.

Stiles sudden stopping causes someone to bump into him roughly as they too come through the swinging school doors. When the guy sees the coffee spilling from the misplaced lid of the travel mug Stiles clutches, he looks like he’s about to apologise but as his eyes meet Stiles' face, he closes his mouth resolutely. Stiles says nothing and the two stare at each other for a moment. He was a large boy who Stiles thinks he remembers being at Lacrosse try outs this year. He hadn’t made the team. Stiles had, however, which the boy seems to be displeased about. The two continue staring at one another other for a long while before the other boy breaks their eye contact by rolling his eyes.

This boy, like quite a few guys who didn’t make the team (and some who did), obviously think Stiles doesn’t really deserve his prized position on the team and that he was only selected because of his close friendship with Scott McCall (team captain) and Coach (who considers Stiles a surrogate son). Stiles can’t help but think they’re right. He has career goal average of nearly zero and is known for being the clumsiest lacrosse player in the tristate area. Coach may like Stiles enough to give him a jersey, but he doesn’t keep him bench warming because he was any good.

The boy, still facing Stiles, pushes him roughly, this time, knocking Stiles coffee cup purposefully and spilling still more of the liquid down Stiles' arm to stain his flannel sleeve.  

 _“He thinks that you’re not good enough.”_ The follower, once again behind Stiles, whispers. “ _They all think that_.” Stiles looks around fleetingly, staring at the faces of other Beacon Hills High students strolling into the hall. They seem to glare at him as he stands still frozen just inside the entrance.

Stiles forces himself to take a deep breath and lock the air tightly back in the confines of his lungs. He tells himself _the follower_ is just trying to get to him. He is just fine the way he is. Stiles' stomach growls in persistent contradiction. Stiles swallows hard and turns on his heel with an attempt at confidence but, knowing it’s following him again, walks a little faster toward his locker (and Scott), anyway.

 _The follower_ is at his heels every step of the way.

* * *

 

“Stiles!” A high and indignant voice exclaims. “What on earth happened to your arm?!”

Stiles laughs breathily and beams at the Strawberry blonde leaning against his locker perfectly balanced in towering heels. “Nothing to worry about, Lyds.”

Lydia totally ignores this and grabs his wrist anyway. Stiles protectively moves his travel mug out of the way of her talonous manicure so as not to spill anymore of the life-giving liquid. She examines his sleeve accusingly, looping her long fingers around his thin wrist easily.

 “Your hand is burnt, Stilinski.” She diagnoses staring at the reddening skin, “And your sleeve is stained!” Lydia is about to throw his arm back at him in annoyance (mostly at his unkempt appearance) when she tightens her grip suddenly and pulls his wrist back toward her. She leans in to inspect it further. Stiles squirms uncomfortably. When Lydia looks up to scrutinize Stiles face just as much as his wrist, he pulls his arm back to himself and looks down, extremely self-aware. He rubs his burnt wrist.

Stiles feels Lydia on the verge of a comment when the bell for first period rings. Stiles quickly turns his locker combination and is finished grabbing his books and slamming the door shut before the bell has even finished ringing. He’s walking away before Lydia can even speak.

Surprised by Stiles basically shrugging her off (which he never does), Stiles hears Lydia call after him as he speeds walks to chemistry, “See you at lunch!”

Stiles stomach clenches, knowing very well that she won’t.

“ _You’re better off not getting tempted_.” _The follower_ seductively murmurs as they walk in step with one another. For the first time, Stiles wasn’t uncomfortable in the presence of the follower and, if anything, felt almost reassured as it walked with him.

* * *

 

Lydia can’t see Stiles when she enters the cafeteria.

She huffs internally.

He’d been doing this lately – not coming to their lunch period. It was worrying her. He had started to look thin around the edges and worn as though he hadn’t been sleeping. Just last week she’d found him standing in the middle of the hallway, totally unresponsive. She’d been in a hurry to catch a teacher but shoved her freshly brewed coffee at him anyway. She saw him later that day looking much brighter so hadn’t thought much of it, but now, looking back, it had been very strange.

He'd looked like he had when…. _It_ was inside of him…

 _Dead_.

Lydia banishes this thought from her head. No, Stiles was not possessed again.

Lydia takes up a seat next to Malia at their usual lunch table. Malia doesn’t look up from where she is savaging an apple but greets Lydia as she chews. Lydia resists the urge to wrinkle her nose when she sees the tiny flecks of apple flung from Malia’s mouth as she speaks. 

“Scott,” Lydia calls across the table to the brown haired boy. “Scott!” Lydia tries again but had Scott fallen into Kira’s brown eyes with a mushy expression draped across his face. The half-eaten burrito he was holding started to drip salsa down his hand. He didn’t notice.

“Oi!” Malia says, reaching over and flicking him on the nose. Kira giggles. “Bad boy!” Scott seems to remember the world around him then and looks away from his girlfriend dazedly.

“What’s up?” Scott questions, shaking his head as though he was seeing sun for the first time in hours.

“Have you seen Stiles today?”

“Um. No? Why?”

“Because he’s your best friend?”

Scott looks confused, “Yeah... I know.”

Lydia wants to do more than flick Scott on the nose as she sighs exasperatedly. “He’s not at lunch again. Maybe you should see how he’s doing?”

“Why?” Malia asks, puzzled. “He smelt fine when I saw him today.”

“Well, maybe not everything is so obvious from first sniff.” Lydia barks at Malia and then turns to glare at Scott. He recoils from its ferocity.

Scott looks into Kira’s dark eyes and she give him a look that says, “Just do what she wants.”

“I’ll go find him?” He says as a question. Lydia’s glare intensifies. “Uh… I’ll just go now.” Scott pulls his bag onto his shoulder, bins the last of his burrito and heads out still slightly confused about what just happened.

He strides down the hall in the direction of the library, thinking that Stiles will probably be in there. He’d been studying alone in the library at lunch time the last couple weeks, preparing for exam block.

Scott was just walking by the door to the boy’s bathroom when he thinks he should pop in for a quick leak. Lydia may be forcing him to check on Stiles, but she wasn’t controlling when he could and could not pee.

Scott is pushing open the door when he sees the figure lying passed out on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry it's been a while.   
> Thanks for reading and your continued support.  
> Leave your thoughts and comments.   
> \- Lyds


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles can hardly stay awake.

He's trying so hard to focus on his textbook that his eyes are actually watering, but it's no use. The words swirl around the page then ball together in the middle like a monotone constellation of dates and places. He panics, which causes him to feel suddenly more alert.

What if the nogitsune has returned and he's unable to read again? He hadn't told anyone, but that had been one of the most frightening parts of being possessed. He had never imagined in his most terrifying nightmares that he would lose that part of himself, so when it had happened he was totally unprepared. Stiles had never felt off kilter like he did then. It was as though he had become a completely different person, a limited person. He had felt dumb (a feeling not often felt by him). He had hated that feeling.

During this brief period of alertness the words in his textbook had untangled themselves into straight sentences again, proving that Stiles is, most definitely, not possessed again. In fact, he is completely alone in his own head (something he is now achingly aware of).

No, Stiles is not possessed he is just very, very tired. So tired in fact, his head is lolling down onto his shoulder as sleep attempts to kidnap him. He snorts out loud and hauls his head up.

No! He must stay awake!

This makes no sense. It's impossible that he's so tired. He drank his coffee this morning, all three cups of it! He even brought the black, sugarless (and completely tasteless) liquid to school and drank it in class. The little shit had burnt his arm! He didn't buy an 8 dollar travel mug to feel like this. He bought it to feel “normal” again. Coffee is meant to make him feel normal, and being “normal” generally doesn't include fighting a losing battle against his own eyelids at 11am on a Monday. He doesn't understand why he can't have normalcy again. Why can't he just be in control of his own life for once?!

Honestly though, he doesn't want to analyse why that isn't possible right now, he just wants to sleep.

No! He can't sleep! Not here! Not in the library.

But he's so comfortable and warm.

No, Stiles! Study time. You will not fail these exams, you will not be a failure at school too!

With that thought reverberating through his skull like cymbals crashing together, Stiles shakes his head and blinks determinedly. He's going to study, god damnit!

He's slumping down in his chair milliseconds later, breathing softly as sleep finally succeeds in claiming him.

* * *

Stiles isn't sure how long he's been out for when he wakes up, but he knows that he is gently being shaken

“Stiles!”

Stiles sits up suddenly, shaking his head to throw off sleep. He grips the hand on his shoulder and looks up terrified into the face of his best friend.

“Dude, you need to get more sleep at night. You're too stressed out about exams!” Scott scolds while he smiles crookedly at him. Stiles relaxes back in his chair and coughs out a laugh. He feels like scrubbing his hands up and down his face, but doesn't so Scott won't think he's even more tired then he looks (because he is not so drained that not even a carton of V could keep him awake. No, absolutely not….).

Scott pulls a chair away from a nearby table full of freshmen to sit on Stiles right. “I just had to carry a kid to the nurses office.” Scott says, looking like a lost puppy. Stiles raises an eyebrow while he starts packing away his highlighters. Scott takes this gesture as a “go on” type of signal and continues, “I found her passed out in the toilet.”

Stiles stops shutting down his laptop to stare at Scott, “Should I even ask why you were in the girls bathroom?”

“What? No! Sh-”

“So I shouldn't ask?”

“No, I meant,” Scott pauses to take a deep, controlled breath, “She was in the boys bathroom.” Stiles squints his eyes and evaluates Scott carefully. Usually, his cheeks turn pink when he lies. They weren't now, but you never know…… “I wasn't creeping in the girls bathroom, Stiles!”

Stiles holds up his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. So why exactly did this random chick just wonder into the boys bathroom and collapse? Was she hoping to be found by some hunky guy and be rescued? Because mission success!” Stiles claps Scott on the shoulder and snorts out a laugh.

Scott shoots him a disapproving look, “No. The nurse thinks that she was just really tired. You know when you are so tired everything is just really confusing and you can't seem to be able to wake yourself up properly?” A rock drops into the bottom of Stiles stomach. He feels the weight of it and knows it's because he has felt exactly like that. Literally minutes ago he was struggling to even keep his head up. Stiles swallows guiltily and nods silently. “Yeah, well it looks like she was just so tired that she wondered into the wrong bathroom, couldn't stay awake any longer and passed out.”

“And uh… why did that happen? Something supernatural?” Stiles asks almost hopefully.

Scott looks so sad then Stiles heart breaks a little. “No, the nurse thinks that she fainted because she hasn't been eating and so had like zero energy. Dude, she was so light! It was like carrying a sack of bones.”

Stiles is suddenly acutely aware of his heart beating and the blood being pumped around his body. He hears it rush through his ears, into his skull.

_“Stay calm, Stiles. He won't notice if you just control your heart beat. Come on, consistent breaths.”_

_S_ tiles had been sure _the follower_ had left earlier that day, but he was back now and breathing in his ear. He doesn't trusts it in the slightest, but breathes deeply anyway. His heart rate slows and Scott doesn't notice _._

“That's shit, man.” Stiles pushes out eventually. Scott nods in a “I feel you” sort of way.

“I just hope she's okay. That anorexic shit, man.” Scott shakes his head reprovingly. Stiles flinches internally – Scott had said the “a” word. “I don't understand why girls feel like they need to do that, you know? Like boys don't give a shit about how small their waist is.”

“It might be more than that. She could just be trying to take control of herself, you know? Just because she isn’t eating, doesn't mean she is anorexic.”

“Dude, ‘not eating’ is pretty much the definition of anorexic.”

Stiles is silent.

Scott looks at him expectantly.

Stiles stares back at him, not speaking. What does he want him to say? That he agrees? He doesn't.

Scott squints his eyes at him when he still doesn't reply, asks,“Are you okay, man?”

Stiles continues staring blankly at him and (still breathing deeply, low in his chest) responds with a very convincing, "Yep.”

“…..Are you sure?”

Stiles counts to the beat of his breathing because he know Scott is listening and then a gives a small laugh, “Yes bro! Come on, let’s get out of here, the bell will ring soon.” He stands, stretching.

Scott looks relieved at this and relaxes some. “Thanks for listening man, it really freaked me out.” He holds out his hand for Stiles to clasp. Stiles smiles sympathetically and pulls Scott to his feet but on the inside he's ice cold.

Stiles follows Scott out of the library and _the follower_ follows him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave your thoughts,  
> Lyds


End file.
